


My Nightmares Escaped My Head, Bar The Door Please Don't Let Them In

by okaynextcrisis



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2074617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaynextcrisis/pseuds/okaynextcrisis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill and Laura limp back to their quarters.  Missing scene from Blood on the Scales.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Nightmares Escaped My Head, Bar The Door Please Don't Let Them In

She can't stop shivering.

Laura doesn't know if the cold is real, some side effect, perhaps, of what happened today, of what those people did to this ship…or if the ice is inside of her, now, freezing her veins, creeping its way to her heart.

To what's left of her heart.

_It's over, Laura._

_Bill Adama was tried and found guilty of his crimes._

_A firing squad executed him this morning._

_It's done, Laura._

A half-choked sob escapes her, and Bill rubs her back, tightens his grip under her shoulders. "Almost there," he whispers.

Almost home. She's not sure she could make the distance without him.

But then, without him, it wouldn't be home anymore, anyway.

By the time they step through the hatch into their quarters, Bill is all but carrying her weight. He leaves her alone, on the couch, just long enough to go into the other room and bring back a bottle and two glasses. Laura misses his warmth immediately, curls into him the instant he returns, her head resting against his shoulder.

With the hand not pulling her closer to him, tracing circles on her spine, he sloshes amber liquid into the glasses, nearly up to the rim. He holds a glass up to her, and she doesn't argue, lifting her head just enough to take a few sips.

She knows he's taking care of her the best way he knows how.

_It's over, Laura._

She shivers, violently, feeling the spasm travel though her body and cut into his, and is immediately sorry. He's suffered enough, today. She doesn't want to hurt him further, doesn't want to add another drop of pain to the sorrow in his eyes.

She pulls herself up a little straighter against him, her hand reaching out, smoothing his uniform. She takes another sip, letting the warmth travel down her throat, spread through her chest. She smiles. She knows he loves her smile.

"I'll give you this much," she says, trying for the teasing lilt that always makes him smile. "You did make it home in time for supper."

He snorts. "A little early, actually."

She cups his cheek. "You always were an overachiever."

He covers her hand with his, their fingers intertwining. "I try," he whispers.

She closes her eyes against the tears. Yes, he does.

And this is what it gets him.

_Bill Adama was tried and found guilty of his crimes._

_A firing squad executed him this morning._

She feels his lips against her forehead. "It's all right, Laura," he whispers.

But it isn't.

She can't imagine that it ever will be again.

_It's done, Laura._

She reaches out, blindly, holding his face with both hands, bringing his lips to hers, trying to drown out the voice in her head.

_It's over, Laura._

_Bill Adama was tried and found guilty of his crimes._

_A firing squad executed him this morning._

_It's done, Laura._

But it isn't. He is still here, she is still here, and if she could just keep kissing him forever, she might begin to believe it—

A rap on the hatch, and they both flinch. Bill's hand goes to his sidearm. Laura moves closer to him, brings her body between him and the hatch, as though she can protect him from whatever is on the other side.

As though she can protect him from anything.

"Colonel Tigh to see you, Admiral."

The voice is unfamiliar to Laura, but Bill doesn't appear alarmed. "Let him in," he calls.

But Laura notices that he doesn't remove his hand from his weapon until Tigh is in the room and the hatch is closed behind him.

Laura has seen Saul Tigh soaked in alcohol, slurring his words; she has seen him just out of detention on New Caprica, burning with rage, with a patch over his missing eye; she has seen him standing on the wasted Earth, his bald head covered and his eyes dead.

She's never seen him look this bad.

"Madame President," he acknowledges with a tired nod.

She swallows. "Colonel," she replies.

They have never been quite intimate, she and the colonel. She is not sure they've ever used each other's first names. But they have been through a war together—more than one, now—and maybe that's almost the same.

Saul stayed behind with Bill. She has loved people for less.

"I have the execution orders," Saul says.

Bill's fingers tighten on hers. "Zarek's and Gaeta's?"

 _This_ , she can spare him. This, she can protect him from.

She holds out her hand. "Where do I sign?"

Bill shakes his head. "You can't," he says. "It's a military decision."

_It's a military decision._

The words make her ache.

"Zarek is a civilian," she argues, but gently.

"It's treason," Bill replies, but it's not his words she's listening to. It's his eyes she's watching, his eyes that hold the weight of this day, this moment. She thinks of how many times Gaeta stood beside Bill in CIC, of how many crises they survived together, of the shared celebrations, and funerals, and all the days in between.

Bill does not have to speak aloud for her to know how deeply this betrayal cuts him, how much this name on the execution order hurts.

Maybe there's nothing left to spare him, after all.

It doesn't mean she won't try.

"The government—" she begins.

His fingers press hers. "We'll both sign it."

They pass the pen between them, Laura only letting go of Bill's hand long enough to write her name.

On his way out, Saul hesitates. "I've got the CIC under control, Bill," he says. "You should get some rest."

_Rest._

Laura wonders how they will ever rest again.

She watches the look that passes between Bill and his XO, and she is grateful for it.

She is grateful that there is someone else who has Bill's back.

The hatch clangs shut, and Bill drains his glass, pours another. "Felix Gaeta," he mutters, tonelessly, lifelessly. "Who could have seen  _that_  coming?"

 _She_  should have, Laura knows. If she hadn't gone AWOL, hadn't abandoned her post, she might have known things had gotten this bad in the fleet, might have been able to stop it.

But that's her sin, not Bill's. She won't let him carry this, too.

"No one," she whispers, running her fingers through his hair. "No one could have done more than you."

Bill grips the glass, his knuckles white. "Then why did this happen?"

It's the crack in his voice that breaks them both.

Bill crumbles, his face burying itself in her lap, his shoulders shaking, his tears soaking her pants. Her own tears stream down her face; she doesn't bother to try to hide them. She just rubs his back, and murmurs soothing syllables, and lets him cry himself out.

She can't spare him this.

_It's over, Laura._

Yes. It's over.

And it will never be over.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Bill and Laura belong to Ron Moore; title belongs to Radical Face.


End file.
